Finishing the Race
by Beatrice Otter
Summary: These are dangerous things to speculate about. Post-episode fic for "A Race Through Dark Places."


**Written for:** deservixen for Not Prime Time 2018

 **AN:** Episode coda for A Race Through Dark Places.

* * *

It was a dangerous thing to speculate about, Susan knew. What she didn't know, she couldn't betray. She shouldn't even be thinking about it. All it would take was one telepath scanning her—and she certainly didn't trust Bester or one of his type _not_ to, and B5 was busy and crucial enough that _something_ would happen sooner or later to draw a PsiCop's notice. Again.

But. Bester had left alone, empty-handed. He had not arrested any rogue teeps, nor had anyone in custody. Smuggling people out wasn't his style; if he'd captured anyone, he would have trumpeted it to high heaven and used them as an example. And if he _hadn't_ found anyone, he would have torn the station apart until there was no place anyone could have hidden. He would have been everywhere, like a cockroach, until he found his quarry or proved they weren't here.

She'd been expecting his presence on the station to be a lot more unpleasant. She had braced for it. Then he had left. Just … gone. And while everyone else had relaxed, Susan had _known_ something was wrong. Had he found the rogue teeps and killed them?

Then Susan had come to her quarters, wanting to talk. Cagey, exhausted, admitting the PsiCorps was every bit as bad as Susan had ever said … but not willing to give any details about what had happened. And not grieving anything but her faith in the Corps.

* * *

The next day, Susan checked the station log. Overnight, there had been eleven 'burials in space,' dead bodies ejected from the station towards Epsilon III, to crash on the planet. Space burials used less energy (and were therefore cheaper) than cremation, used for lurkers and those who had a taboo against cremation but couldn't afford to ship a body back to their homeworld. The corpses were logged as rogue teeps killed while resisting arrest, some with names and some without.

But whoever had recorded the burials hadn't taken into account the traffic patterns around B5. Space burials were supposed to be timed to the gaps between ships, so that there would be no chance of them hitting anything. Those eleven burials had _not_ been timed to fit into the gaps between ships … and Susan had received no complaints from irate captains about hits or near-misses with large debris. Therefore, there probably _hadn't_ been any actual burials. The records had been altered.

Michael was right. Whoever was running the Underground Railroad on Babylon 5, it was a member of the command staff. But not one who'd ever taken a shift in C&C, or they would have known how to alter the logs better.

* * *

Stephen was seeing his last patient of the day, and he was _tired_. A full shift at Medlab, followed by a couple of hours in the clinic … it took a lot out of you. Particularly when, in those two hours in the clinic, you saw so _damn_ many people whose conditions would have been perfectly treatable if they'd had better access to prevention or earlier treatment.

Still. It was good work, meaningful work, that made a difference, and he'd never give it up. He'd only been partially truthful when he told Captain Sheridan that he'd started the clinic as a cover for the Underground Railroad.

That was one of the handy things about being known as a truthful man with a high moral code and a simple life. People generally believed what you told them, even when you were confessing to multiple felonies and repeated fraud. It made concealing and misleading … much easier.

"Alright," Stephen told his patient, a Human woman named Harya, as he stripped off his gloves, "I don't have any more samples of your prescription or any of the generics you can tolerate, so I'm afraid there's not much I can do for you. I'm sorry. You know the symptoms better than I do, but I don't think you're in immediate danger of a bad episode."

"Naw, it's fine," Harya said, looking down at her hands, face drawn taut in the anticipation of pain. "The samples from last time made a real difference. I just … I got a job, you know? On Beta Durani, and they have universal healthcare. It's just _getting_ there—jumps make it worse, you know? But thanks anyway."

"I'm sorry," Stephen said, helplessly. "I hope it all works out for you."

"Yeah, me too," she said with a sigh, slipping off the stool and grabbing her jacket. "Thanks anyway."

Stephen packed up his kit as she walked out, tossing things into it with more force than necessary. This was what he hated, more than anything else: to see people suffering, and know it was unnecessary. People called him an idealist, but he wasn't. He was a realist. He dealt with this mess every day. He saw the costs, economic and not. And he'd studied the logistical challenges involved. Lack of healthcare was one problem Earth and its colonies _could_ fix. If they chose to. But the colonies were, by and large, too poor, and EarthGov didn't care about anyone not on Earth itself.

Someone cleared a throat, and Stephen looked up quickly. People generally looked out for him, in Downbelow, because they knew they might need him. But even for him, it wasn't a good place to let your guard _too_ far down.

"Commander Ivanova," he said, surprised. "What brings you here to my clinic? Need something for you back, after sleeping on the couch for a couple of days? Captain Sheridan told me how he fixed the problem." Stephen shook his head. He didn't know whether to shake his head at the foolishness of thinking he could get EarthGov to back down about money, or be amused at how Sheridan had maneuvered around them.

"No, I'm fine," Ivanova said. She pulled out a white-noise generator and turned it on so no one could overhear them without getting close enough to be noticed. "You should have had Captain Sheridan alter the records."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Stephen said, mind racing. Never mind how she'd found out, what was he going to do? He couldn't _tell_ her anything; she'd never give them up willingly, but she wouldn't be given that choice. Stephen himself was only a peripheral part of the command staff. He could always come up with something that needed him in MedLab and avoid being in the same room with a PsiCop, as he had in the last week. Ivanova was the second-in-command; like Sheridan, she would have no choice but to deal one-on-one with Bester and his ilk. If they ever suspected anything, Susan would have no defenses. Anything she knew would be theirs for the taking the second they wanted it.

"You fooled Bester, somehow," Ivanova said. "Made him think he'd killed the rogue teeps. Talia was probably involved in that, somehow. Then you modified the station records to show the bodies were disposed of. Except you didn't time the launches right—you'd have had hits or near misses with at least two ships, last night, if you'd really launched them when the timestamps say. I fixed that, by the way. You're welcome."

Stephen closed his eyes and sighed. There was always _something_. "Well, next time I'll know better," he said. "Thank you. I really appreciate it." Not that anyone was likely to look; or, at least, if anyone ever looked that closely, they were probably screwed anyway. Still, you never knew; it was why he'd bothered to dummy up the body disposal records, even after Bester had left.

Ivanova shook her head and went on. "What I don't understand is, why you would involve Captain Sheridan, and then _not_ have him handle the records. He's handled space burials before, he wouldn't have made that mistake."

"He didn't want to get too involved with the details," Stephen said. "He was mad enough to find out it was going on under his nose, I didn't want to push it."

"Fair enough," Ivanova said. "But why involve him at all? One more person for Bester to scan and find out from."

"Oh, he avoided Bester before he left," Stephen said.

"Yeah, I know," Ivanova said. "Stuck me with dealing with it all. But still. Bester might find out he was wrong. With our luck, he'll be back for something completely different and pick it up by accident during a surface scan."

"Hopefully not," Stephen said. "But you know how the Captain is. When he gets suspicious of something, he just doesn't let it go. Garibaldi, too—they're very alike, that way. Now that the PsiCorps knows we've used Babylon 5 as a waypoint, we can't use it anymore. Better to be up front that it _was_ here, but won't be any longer. That way he doesn't waste time on it, and doesn't need to feel obligated to keep digging."

That was a lie, of course; they'd have to be more careful, but there were only so many possible routes to get people out of EarthGov controlled space. And even fewer of them had people, doctor or not, willing to help rogue teeps. A route the PsiCorps believed they'd shut down? With the local commercial teep on their side? They'd have to be more cautious, but Babylon 5 would continue to host escaping telepaths for the foreseeable future.

No, the reason Stephen had brought him in was so that if it _didn't_ work, or if Bester came back and scanned Sheridan, he would know that _Sheridan_ believed route was shut down. It might not make any difference, but who knew? Even if Bester didn't fall for it, it might by them time.

Ivanova gave him a hard look. She probably suspected that he wasn't telling the truth, or at least not the whole truth. He gave her the most open look he could manage. There were advantages to being, in general, an open book. When you really needed to conceal something, most people overlooked the fact that you might _have_ anything to conceal.

"Why didn't you come to me for help?" she said at last.

"Help yesterday with the records, or help months ago running the Railroad?" Stephen asked.

"Either."

He shook his head. "Commander, you have always been very vocal about your hatred of the Corps. You would have been the first suspect—I'd bet good money Bester scanned you without permission when he first arrived, to see if you knew anything. Involving you would have been far too risky."

Ivanova scowled. "So, you're saying that if I wanted to help, I should have hid my opinions about the Corps."

"Oh, no, no, no, that's not what I'm saying," Stephen said. "There are a lot of ways to help. My hope is that the Corps will be changed, or possibly dissolved entirely, and that's not going to happen without outside pressure. Even if it doesn't change soon, they need to be held accountable, kept on their toes, and you're in an excellent position to do that. But the people loudly pointing out PsiCorp's faults for all the world to see can't be the same ones who are smuggling rogue teeps out from under their nose."

"I guess not," Ivanova said distantly. She shook her head. "Well. You did something very good here, Doctor Franklin," she said as she turned off the white noise generator. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Stephen said.

* * *

Susan shook her head. Stephen Franklin, of all people, running the Underground Railroad. He was romantic, idealistic, and independent enough to do it, to put his life and career on the line to help people escape injustice. She'd just thought he was an open book, a good natured person who saw the world through rose-tinted glasses. If anyone had asked her, a week ago, if the good doctor could have managed the subterfuge and deception to pull anything like this off, she would have laughed in their face. And yet, there he was.

There were hidden depths, there. She should get to know him better.


End file.
